


Siren

by CumberCougars (lunacatd)



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom
Genre: Benedict Birthday gift, Benedict in Shower, Burlesque, Erotica, F/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunacatd/pseuds/CumberCougars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From friends' prompt: Benedict at a Burlesque show.</p><p>To celebrate Sherlock Series 3, the rising star of our handsome, talented Benedict and as a very big thank you to everyone who has stopped by to read my story/s. I am deeply grateful to you. </p><p>PS: I was my own beta reader for this so please forgive any spelling or grammar errors. Had to rely on Microsoft word</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siren

The Club

Benedict stood in front of the non descript door. The only door on this side of the street, well alley really, it was centred on a large brick facade, and the windows that he could see beyond the glare of the streetlights must have been blacked out somehow as no light from inside seeped out. 

What had he got himself into? Or rather, what had his friends got him into? 

A week ago Adam, Monroe and James had provided him with a mysterious manila envelope. They had told him to follow the instructions inside to the letter as they had arranged a very special birthday surprise to celebrate this banner year for him. Later, after a few pints and an evening of their customary camaraderie, he was left to ponder the “gift” – then, still bewildered, he put it away.

Earlier in the day, at the appointed time he had opened the envelope and spilled the contents out on his desk. Inside he found the aforementioned instructions and another envelope. This one was quite contrasting, of a much higher quality paper, the texture soft and rich like raw silk. The front had his first initial written in beautiful calligraphy, the back was sealed with a heavy dollop of blood red wax, the sigil an elaborate “S”. Though simple the instructions shed little light on what lay ahead, he was to dress in black tie and wait for a car that would arrive to pick him up at 9pm precisely. He was to bring this second envelope along and not break the seal until directed. Refreshments would be provided – whatever that meant.

Now here he was, standing on this cobbled alley, in front of this heavy wooden door with its slit of a peephole, a brass button on the wall with a tastefully engraved sign hanging above that read merely “The Club”. 

After nervously brushing back his slicked back hair and adjusting his bow tie, a special gift he had received from Alexander McQueen, again, Benedict reached out and pressed the brass button. At first nothing happened, then the slit in the door opened.

“Yes?” a male voice asked.

“Um...hello?” Benedict answered.

“Have you got an invitation?”

“Invitation? Do you mean this?” Benedict reached into his jacket and pulled out the sealed envelope then held it up to the slit.

Suddenly the door opened and he was ushered inside. “Welcome Mr Cumberbatch.”

Benedict’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. His greeter was an older man, Benedict thought, but on closer look realized his mistake. The snow white hair had fooled him, but he was probably in his mid thirties. He was also quite large; he had at least six inches and a couple of stone on him. 

“Follow me, please,” the man instructed.

Ben did so down a long hallway decorated in wood panelling and striking velvet wallpaper. “McGuigan would love this,” he thought.

As they neared the end of the hall marked by a heavy curtain, Benedict could hear the sounds of music, conversation and the clink of glasses. The guide pulled the curtain aside to reveal a large room full of warmth, sparkle and people dressed to the nines. This was a night club of some kind, a cabaret he realized. Vaulted ceilings were hung with crystal chandeliers, walls covered with opulent drapery, a huge bar dominated one wall, the floor was crowded with tables and at the other side the main stage and a secondary stage where a band was now playing some pretty good jazz. 

All over the club were people, at the bar, at the tables and mingling in between. From his cursory glance he didn’t spot any of his friends though there might have been a familiar face here and there. He did not get a chance to see as his guide escorted through the club efficiently to a reserved booth right in front of the main stage.

“You may now open the invitation, Mr Cumberbatch. My name is Snow; I will be your server this evening. May I get you a drink to start with?”

Finally getting a chance to take a closer look at his handler, Benedict was surprised to note the very pale skin, colourless lashes and brows as well as the red irises. The man was albino, how unusual. “Thank you, Snow. I’m hoping my friends will join me soon?”

“The rest of your party is not due until the latter part of the evening, sir. The invitation will explain further. Shall I bring you a bottle of Champagne? I would also recommend the oysters. They are superb today.”

“Ah...sure. Thank you.” Benedict’s curiosity was certainly piqued. Sliding a long finger under the envelope’s flap, he broke the seal and unfolded what turned out to be a sheet of paper, thick and ragged at the edges. The writing within, again was hand done calligraphy. 

“Dear Mr Cumberbatch;  
The Club is pleased to help celebrate your birthday. In honour of this special occasion our star Siren has created a unique experience for your pleasure which will be enhanced by your participation. Though an audience adds to the piquancy of the moment, it is preferable they be unknown to you, therefore your party will be joining you after the event.

In the meantime take pleasure in our hospitality and enjoy yourself to the fullest.”

Well, as far as directions went, these were not particularly enlightening, but what the hell. He liked a little mystery and the rush of the unexpected certainly added something to the evening. His friends knew him well.

Snow placed a plate with half a dozen fresh plum oysters in front not him with trimmings on the side, and a bottle of Pol Roger Sir Winston Churchill chilled in a silver Art Nouveau style ice bucket – The Club certainly had an exclusive wine list. After Benedict approved of the wine, Snow topped off the crystal flute with the topaz sparkling liquid, then stepped away into the background as the house lights faded. The show was about to start.

The music switched from jazz to an airy trance tempo as the spotlight hit a beautiful couple on the stage. The woman and man turned out to be acrobatic contortionists whose gorgeous sinewy bodies proceeded to slide from one sensually intricate pose into another while the band accompanied them with equally sensual music. The couple was barely clad, covered mostly in glitter and gilded paint so that the stage lights played over their skin and muscles in the most intriguing ways. Benedict enjoyed their performance very much and by the time he finished the oysters, so were they. 

As the couple took a last bow to the loud applause from their appreciative audience, the curtains closed. Benedict could feel the champagne beginning to affect him, a pleasant sparkling at the edges of his senses giving his surroundings a glittering softness. 

Soon Snow had replaced the empty dishes with an assortment of amuse bouches. There was a selection of Carpaccio, both beef and tuna, scallop sashimi, and other savory surprises. Though Snow suggested additional wines to choose from, Benedict opted to stay with the champagne as it was a fine vintage indeed. 

The lights dimmed once again, with a spotlight falling on the secondary stage as the band leader stepped up to the mike.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to The Club. You have enjoyed your aperitif, with Sergio and Sonja I am pleased to tell you they will be back to entertain you further.” He paused while the audience clapped in approval. “Next we continue with a lesson in history. Theatrical censorship in Britain and the US forbade actresses to move when nude or semi-nude on stage so, for many years, risqué presentations were created as tableaux vivant onstage by entertainers. They imitated classical works of art with great accuracy. Tonight we revive the practice and give it The Club touch.”

At his signal, spotlight disappeared throwing the whole club into darkness if not for the tiny flickering candles at each table. The curtains at the main stage parted and a small soft light began to meander about the room, like a glowing firefly. Music also flowed, a classical piece, it was Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons. The light flashed and danced to the music reaching the stage. It moved over shapes and forms as if painting them out of the black void. As the tempo grew a dazzling Tableau was revealed. Benedict recognized Titian’s Sacred and Profane Love immediately. He had had the pleasure of seeing the original at the Galleria Borghese in Rome. 

He couldn’t help but gasp along with the rest of the audience at the cleverness of this living version. Every detail of the painting was reproduced on the stage by posed and intertwined models, from the landscape in the background to the fountain and, of course, protagonists in the painting. Models of both genders, so skillfully posed he could not tell how many. They were mostly nude although covered in body paint to achieve the correct colouring. There also seemed to be a wide variety of body types which was a delight to the eye, and he wondered at their skill for they held the pose for a surprising length of time. 

When the music reached a crescendo the Tableau dissolved into a swirl of bodies, color and movement as the models burst from their places into flurry that disappeared into the wings of the stage. The audience exploded into applause and cries of bravos as well as whistles and hoots. They didn’t have to wait for long as the music didn’t stop and they were treated to more Tableaux, each one more complex than the last, culminating in the pièce de résistance, The Birth of Venus by Sandro Botticelli in all its sensual glory. 

Through the whole spectacle Benedict was in awe of the beauty and talent of the performers. Staging of each Tableau was so creative, so hedonistic, at the same time alluring so he couldn’t help but be stirred by the visions created. When the models came back on stage to take their bows, he led an enthusiastic standing ovation. 

Once again the curtains came down and the house lights came up and the band returned to the cool calming jazz tunes indicating an intermission. Benedict wondered whether his ‘gift’ was coming up next, a thought soon confirmed by Snow as he brought him a bottle of chilled spring water and pointed the way to the restroom in case he had need of it. Benedict thanked him and decided that refreshing himself would be a great idea. 

Returning to his booth, Benedict settled in. The champagne still buzzed through his veins though quietly in the background now as the natural elatedness of his nerves took over. Just in time it seemed as the band leader came to the mike.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the time you have all been waiting for has arrived. It is my honour to present...Siren!” 

The band launched into an infectious bluesy beat, full of bass, heart beat drums and rhythm guitar. It took Benedict a moment or two but he soon got it. “Spread your Love” by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. At that moment the curtains at the back of The Club parted and the spotlight landed on a striking woman. She strode in to the beat of the music, honey blonde hair done in a retro style reminiscent of the sultry starlets of the nineteen fifties. She wore a deep red sequined gown that clung to the curves of her generous hourglass figure and sparkled with every swing of her hips. The strapless style and front slit skirt gave glimpses of flawless skin the colour of ivory. The ensemble was completed by opera length red satin gloves and a fluffy white fur stole about her shoulders. Her progression between the tables was a subtle yet cocky dance. She paused with the music’s rhythm to greet a customer here or have her hand bowed over there. 

Soon she was at his side and Benedict found himself looking up into the greenest pair of eyes he had ever seen. Eyes that had been expertly outlined into graceful cat-eye slants and a lusciously red mouth...what it was about that particular shade of red that drove men crazy. He sure didn’t know, but that little crooked smile that he was being graced with sure made his heart beat a little faster. That’s when he noticed the eyebrow lift that was also directed at him and that the band was repeating itself, as if waiting for something. 

Oh!

Benedict practically jumped to his feet and a little awkwardly brought the hand that Siren had been holding out to him to his lips, blushing a bit at the snickers he heard from the audience. Never mind that, why had she turned her back to him? Benedict blinked at the gleaming long blond hair that reached down her back, wondering what he was supposed to do, then the beautiful woman turned to look at him and shrugged the fur stole a little off her shoulder. Oh yes! But he was being dense. Benedict gently took hold of the stole and took it off her revealing the beautiful shoulders to the spotlight. With a twitch of her head she indicated he should follow her and he did. She walked to stage steps that had appeared during the intermission. As she started up them held up her hand and Benedict, getting the gist of things now, assisted her up the steps. 

That’s when the curtains parted and he noted the stage was set as a retro boudoir. There was a chaise lounge, a vanity table with mirror complete with fancy pots and crystal perfume bottles, strategically placed oriental folding screens and bolts of jewel toned silks and satins hanging down to the stage floor creating a lush background. 

Siren left him downstage and walked to the vanity where she picked up a tube of lipstick and leaning over just so applied some to her ruby red lips. The move was obviously a signal because as she turned back to him, the music morphed to a cover of Peggy Lee’s Fever. Benedict was still standing there at a bit of a loss, though frankly he didn’t mind as his gaze could not help but get caught by the smooth moves of her gorgeous body as she paced towards him. Next thing he knew, she had taken the stole from his hands, and tossed it on the chaise lounge to then pull slowly at one of her gloves. Finger by finger she pulled, while ensnaring his eyes with hers. They were so green and luminous, as full of mischief as that crooked smile that dimpled one of her cheeks again. Suddenly he noticed her hand in front of his face again, the glove partway off.

Getting it now, Benedict took a hold of the glove and held it as she pulled her hand away with flair, to dance around him and place her other arm on his shoulder and he got the hint. Reaching up he rolled the glove down her arm as the fullness of her breasts pressed against his back. In a beat or two she was in front of him again, and he could admire the way her body moved in perfect timing with the music. She danced up to him, caressed his face lightly then pressed herself against him. Expertly, her hands guided his so that he held her bent knee at his side and supported her back as she arched away from him in a move that brought her hips right against his, and gave him a wonderful view of her torso and long smooth throat. The dryness of his lips was unexpected, as was the desire to taste that expanse of creamy skin.

She was up again, her face close to his, mouth close enough to kiss. Benedict could taste her breath, minty, the dewiness that emanated from her skin beneath the stage makeup as her exertions began to show, salty, and the heat that radiated from her, spicy. 

“My zipper.” She whispered and spun around presenting him with her delightful back.

It took him a moment, again. Maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was the live audience – though that never really bothered him before. He had performed fully nude in front of hundreds for crying out loud! What he wasn’t ready to admit was that the curvaceous figure in front of him was having more of an effect on him than he cared to admit. Reaching forward he took hold of the indicated zipper and started to pull it down. The tempo of the music changed, he realized, it slowed and he slowed his hand to match. Her hands had lifted the heavy silky hair up to gracefully reveal the nape of her neck, and she moved back a touch so that his hand had to drag along her spine as the zipper went down her back. Her skin was smooth and warm, a light scent of jasmine with something else a little spicy, maybe sandalwood, wafted to him. Then she was once again in his arms facing him, her ample bosom pressed hard against his chest, the fullness almost spilling out of the red dress and the feel and sight of the warm creamy flesh made his mouth water. 

His hand was directed to grab a piece of fabric. “Hold on tight, Big Boy.” She commanded into his ear, her husky voice sending shivers down the side of his neck. And he held on for dear life as she spun away. Benedict found himself empty handed except for the dress, while Siren stopped her spin in a spotlight. She looked resplendent, clad only in black lace panties and patent red stiletto sandals. Her body glowed under the spotlight, skin flawless, hair gleaming, her breasts luscious, legs long and shapely — Benedict felt himself flush with desire, his cock hardening in a most inopportune manner. 

Good lord...no...this is not a good time. He berated himself, yet was unable to look away from her —especially as, the music picked up again, and she was sashaying her way back to him with all that succulent voluptuousness. Next thing he knew, she had pointed a finger at his chest, and with a not so gentle push he found himself sitting down on a chair that had magically materialized behind him. Sitting was good, he sighed inwardly. From the audience reaction his surprise and slight clumsiness was playing well and he had to admit he didn’t mind. He had no objections at all to being commanded about by this beauty. 

He didn’t have too much to dwell on those thoughts, because she had swung one of her delightful long legs over him and all of the sudden she was straddling his lap. She was facing away from him though, so that her beautiful heart shaped buttocks pressed rhythmically against his crotch in the most stimulating way. Again, not a good idea. After she turned to press her breasts against him, to then wrap her wrists behind his neck and arch her back, her legs wrapping around his waist. A really bad idea that felt entirely too good in a really, really unfortunate place and time.

“Jesus man, get a hold of yourself.” Benedict scolded himself and turned his thoughts to mundane things like the dishes he left in the sink, and the underwear he’d dropped on the bathroom floor, and the bed he hadn’t bothered to make...bed... Bed. No! Don’t think of the bed, man. 

Before he knew it she had finished the last of the lap dance and there she was standing before him a triumphant look in her eye as with her hand she stretched a black scrap of fabric from between her teeth. Hey! He realized, reaching for his collar as he recognized the black on black skull pattern on the cloth. That was his bow tie!

At that moment the thunderous applause, hoots, hollers and whistles from the audience finally reached him. The wave of noise flowed over him and he turned towards it as the house lights went up and he spotted Adam, James and Monroe sitting at the booth, so they had been allowed in after all. He wondered how long they had been there. Blinking a bit like a deer caught in headlights, he felt his hand being taken by a warm grip. Turning, he saw that Siren was at his side, she had a red silk robe on to cover her nakedness, and at her urging, he also took a bow with her. His heart, he realized was beating as loud and as hard as the applause. He couldn’t stop looking at her. Especially now that the act was over, the smile that played about her mouth, though still mischievous, was softer somehow. 

Benedict lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles lightly. “Thank you,” he beamed at her, “That was much too much fun.” 

She inclined her head at him in acknowledgement and handed him down the stage stairs to his friends, then after one more bow to the audience, disappeared behind the closing curtains. It wasn’t until he got home later that night, well lubricated by more champagne and great food at the Club that Benedict realized he never got his bowtie back. 

 

***

 

Back Home

Benedict took off his jacket and laid it carefully on the back of the sofa. He’d deal with it in the morning, the same with the waistcoat he slid off his shoulders and left on the bench in the hall. Walking into the bedroom, he peeled off his white shirt and dropped it on the floor. The image on the full length mirror across the room caught his attention. Seeing himself standing there, chest bare, clad only in black trousers, befuddled he squinted at the reflection. The alcohol he had consumed throughout the evening continued to course through him keeping everything just a little muddled, just a little unreal. There was enough bewitchment in the air he could picture a certain pair of feminine arms wrapping around him from behind. 

Benedict could almost feel the pressure of her full breasts against his back, except this time there was no fabric between their bodies. He imagined how it would feel to have the pearl like hardness of her rose tinted nipples press against his skin while her sweet breath moistened his nape. As he envisioned her hands dragging across his pecks and belly, a small groan built up in his throat and he found his own hands following the subconscious instructions of his mind. 

What was wrong with him? It wasn’t as if he was hard up, for Christ’s sake. Plenty of women had graced his bed since he had become single. Even tonight, after the act with Siren, their booth turned into the “it” table at The Club. He could have brought home anyone of at least half a dozen stunning ladies. Hell, according to James, he probably could have brought home the whole lot had he been so inclined — but he had not been. As beautiful as they were none felt right, not for tonight. They were not Siren. 

Benedict had asked to meet her after the show, to no avail. Snow had informed him that she never met the patrons. Ever. The best he could do was take her a note, but to his knowledge, she never answered those either. Eventually Benedict returned his attention back to the party, though thoughts of the woman never quite left his mind. 

With a frustrated sigh, he stripped the rest of his clothes off and went into the bathroom for a quick shower. If he hoped to get any sleep, he needed to cleanse the night away.  
Letting the hot water flow over him, he closed his weary eyes and tried to relax. This did not quite work. First visions of emerald green eyes materialized, eyes full of wicked promises, after, that plump red mouth, smiling a little with that devil of a dimple beside it. The hot water continued to pour over his face and his own lips parted so he pretended that the warm, wet heat was hers, her mouth moving over his. He used his hands, all soaped up, to get a hold of his straining cock. There was no point in resisting any longer. 

Benedict slicked up his long hard prick and aching balls. Leaning back against the tiled wall, he braced himself expertly and started to pump his hips just so. His lips mouthed her name in deep gasp-like moans as in his mind it was her nimble fingers wrapped around him squeezing him just right, her teeth nibbling on his lower lip, her long hair flowing against his bare skin. He wanted so desperately to be inside her, to be holding handfuls of her rounded ass and to be smothered by her delicious, heavy breasts. 

He came with a loud grunt that tore out of his throat, as the cum spurted explosively out of his cock — all over the shower stall wall. The pleasure left him in waves as he imagined her husky voice calling out his name in ecstasy. Fuck, he wanted her real bad.

After finishing the shower, Benedict climbed into bed not bothering with pyjamas. He closed his eyes, resigning himself to a sleepless night; which was the last thought he had before falling into a deep, dreamless, restful sleep.

***

Portobello Market

Walking at the open air market was exactly what the doctor ordered. Dressed in his most comfortable jeans and chambray shirt, Benedict had donned a pair of sunglasses and his favorite flat cap to keep the bright mid morning light from his still sensitive eyes. The surprisingly good night sleep had warded off the worst of the hangover, but he still felt slightly delicate around the edges. 

Paper coffee cup in hand, he milled about with the rest of the crowd checking out the various stalls at the Portobello Road market. This was one of the places he could still feel pretty anonymous. He could meander and people watch while the cobwebs from late nights, jet lag or even too many days cooped up in studios got swept away by fresh air, the inconsequential chatter of strangers or the exploration through second hand books and vinyl. 

Today he was on the hunt for more cool jazz and some hot torch songs, something to commemorate the experiences from the past night. Sipping on the strong fragrant brew, he started in the general direction of his record seller of choice. After strolling lazily for about half an hour, Benedict’s gaze was caught by a notably attractive feminine shape walking ahead of him. 

He had zoned out really, but the sway of this particular backside had snared his attention. It was clad in black capris that outlined the shapely thighs and calves attached to said backside delightfully. As he let his gaze roam further he noted the slice of bare back for the lady in question wore a white shirt in such a way the smooth creamy skin of her midriff was exposed. Continuing his exploration, Benedict caught sight of silky honey blond hair caught up in a pert pony tail that bounced lightly with her every step. His breath caught in his throat so he almost chocked on his coffee. Could he be this fortunate? As if his life wasn’t privileged enough.

Just as he was trying to decide what to do next, Benedict realized that the woman had stopped at a market stall. As luck would have it, it was the record seller he had been heading for. Tossing the coffee cup into the closest rubbish bin, he made his way round the boxes of records and CDs to see if he could catch a glimpse of her face. She was perusing through a box of Nineties New Wave LPs. Interesting. Benedict started to go through the box immediately in front of him, not paying any mind to the records but trying to get a look at her without being obvious. He noted that though the man’s tuxedo shirt she wore was tied at her middle, it was buttoned up all the way to her throat so that she could wear a very familiar bowtie properly tied at the collar. She also wore sunglasses, classic Ray Bans, and though her face was bare of the heavy stage makeup, the skin was still smooth. The lips he so well remembered were still plump, lightly glossed rather than bright red. The smile still crooked and the dimple still impish — more so as he realized the Ray Bans had been lowered and green eyes pierced into his sharply. 

“Into Christian Metal, are you? I wouldn’t have guessed.” 

Her amusement confused him until he looked down at the album he had been flipping through, “Ah...yes. I mean, no. Not really, a passing phase.” He answered removing his own glasses and smiling shyly, “I was intrigued, briefly, until I noticed your rather dashing bowtie.” He deflected, cleverly he thought.

“Oh, this?” She answered, “It was a gift from a charming gentleman.”

“He was, um...charming, was he?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“Oh...” Benedict was at a loss for words. He really didn’t know what to say next. Did he introduce himself? Did he say he know who she was? Wha...

“My name is Lorelei,” she said and extended her hand at him.

“I’m Benedict,” he answered taking her warm hand in his. 

She shook it firmly. “Nice to meet you.” 

Letting go of his hand she continued to smile at him, though he could tell she was taking his measure and he found himself shifting a little. 

“If not Christian Metal, what is your poison then?” 

“I was hoping to find some torch singers. Last night after getting home from this great club, I realized I did not own any Peggy Lee.”

“You don’t? That is a quite the oversight.”

“Agreed. Which is why I’m here.” 

“How about Eartha Kitt? Is she in your record library?” 

“I don’t think so...”

“That does not bode well, Benedict.”

“I think I could use some guidance. But I could also use more coffee and a bite to eat. Would it be too forward of me to ask you to join me?”

“I don’t know, would it?”

“I hope not.”

“I guess we’ll never know if you don’t ask.”

“Ms Lorelei, would you join me for a spot of lunch?”

“Why, Mr Benedict, since you ask so charmingly, I believe I will.”

Benedict walked around the stall table and offered his arm. It wasn’t until she had put her hand daintily in the crook of his elbow and had given him a playful wink before slipping her glasses back on, that he realized he had been holding his breath. Putting his own shades on, Benedict took a breath and started walking to wherever Lorelei cared to take him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone for the kudos and the comments on work-in-progress "Weekend in New York". It really means a lot that the story is enjoyed. I do plan to continue it, the rest of it is in my head. Need time to get it out.
> 
> In the meantime I managed to write an original paranormal romance novella. It was published as an ebook last December. It took pretty much all of my free time last year to achieve that goal. It was a wonderful experience I hope to repeat. Thing is, the novella "The Study of Blood in Winter" is fan fiction in disguise. The characters are inspired by Sherlock as played by Benedict Cumberbatch and Lizabeth Salander as played by Rooney Mara - it was a character cross over I was dying to see and this was the only way it was going to happen. If you are interested in checking it out here is the link:  
> https://www.totallybound.com/the-study-of-blood-in-winter?author_id=335
> 
> Thank you again for taking the time to read my stories.


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